


It's my alternate universe and I'll break it if I want to

by EmarisLaughsManiacally



Series: MDCU-27 *Marvel Detective Comics Universe 27* [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red vs. Blue, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awesome Pepper, BAMF Avengers, DC Universe 16, Deaf Clint Barton, Extremis Pepper Potts, Fake Science, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Kid Fic, Kid Peter Parker, Kon-El can age, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Protective Avengers, Science Bros, Slow Build, Smart Clint, Smart Clint Barton, Smart Hulk, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Team - Freeform, Tony Stark Doesn't Like Being Handed Things, Tony Stark Has A Heart, because the author cant science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmarisLaughsManiacally/pseuds/EmarisLaughsManiacally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, in the Red vs. Blue universe, the 'sarcophagus' was transdimensional teleportation device? What if AIM is messing with its alternate dimension twin and sucks three Project Freelancer Agents into a merged Avengers/Justice League universe?<br/>Insanity, mayhem, and some mild maiming, that's what. Eventual team up between the Justice League, Avengers and Freelancers. Freelancers will eventually work for SHIELD. Maybe. The author isn't sure who's holding the pen. Suggestions are welcome but are decided upon by my lucky quarter. Really.<br/>Also: Not on cleanup duty.<br/>___<br/>Relationships will pop up randomly, even the author will be surprised. Edits to the tags, warnings and characters will be constant. Seriously, who's writing this thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sorry, wrong planet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Agent Carolina isn't happy, you should probably duck.  
> And probably take cover.  
> Yea, definitely do that.

[Redacted]

The dive off of the skyscraper was glorious and only faintly tinged with an exhilarating terror that set an electric tang on her tongue and made her skin prickle at the thrilling rush to meet the ground. 

Even with the impromptu gravity test, only a fraction of South Carolina's attention was on her uncontrolled descent. Instead, a solid seventy-five percent of her concentration was honing in on the falling debris, scanning for her target. The rest of her awareness was primed to eliminate or minimize any actions or occurrences that threatened to keep her from reaching her goal.

None did. 

‘Target in sight.’ Her inner voice affirmed unnecessarily. Carolina tightened her posture and flexed her muscles minutely to alter her course, eyes locked on the over-sized metal sarcophagus but focus now able to turn onto the bedlam free-falling with and around her. ‘Danger negligible, no immediate threats detected.’

She pulled her limbs in tighter and forced another body out of her fall-path with a small but sharp nudge.

In retrospect, leaping off of a one hundred and ten story building was not exactly the craziest thing she had done, but the strain of reining her anger was almost physical and Carolina could figuratively feel her skin splitting with barely contained rage. ‘Objective no longer in jeopardy. Operational schedule within acceptable parameters.’ The voice stated dispassionately, pushing her anger down and ruthlessly stomping it back into its cave in her head.

But still, she thought back on the silent, uninvited freelancer that had made vaulting blindly off a roof necessary and Carolina felt a tendril of irritation tighten hotly in her chest. What asshole decides to blow a building while you're still _on_ it?

Ignoring that the other freelancer had not even been a part of the mission brief, destroying structures to complete an objective was dangerous enough without factoring in a civilian population. As team leader, this mission was her responsibility and her teams mistakes were Carolina's mistakes. It was unacceptable, and when she had the chance next, Carolina was going to rearrange every feature on Texas' face.

Carolina was closing in on the box at a reckless speed, New York and Washington surprisingly _silent_ for once as they hurtled towards the ground with only trust in the skill of the Pelican pilot between their bodies and unforgiving concrete. 

As she thought about it, with her Heads Up Display silently beeping along with her pleasingly steady pulse, Carolina recognized that the din in her helmet caused by the rushing wind was almost peaceful, so uniformly loud that the fall was a reprieve into simplicity compared to the mess of the day. Even after adjusting to the sudden vertigo, her raspy breathing was strangely muted and the slight hiss and whir of her armor was a calming refrain.

Her smaller build gave her an aerodynamic advantage against wind resistance over her teammates and Carolina extended her arm towards the box, carefully compensating for the shift to maintain her trajectory and watched her HUD count down the distance by the meter, absently monitoring her pulse again as it started to climb in anticipation.

Half a meter and her ears thudded heavily with her pulse, one set of numbers in her helmet shrinking as another set climbed.

Thirty centimeters and the roar of the wind against her mic was deafened by the Pelicans thunderous engines as the pilot maneuvered the aircraft into position to secure their payload. And hopefully catch them mid-fall. 

Along with Carolina's adrenaline, the sounds around her jacked up to eleven as the enemy closed in on them in a sudden mad scramble to reach the box. She strained to hear the pilot's directions but settled for procedure.

Fifteen centimeters and there was a second where it felt like all movement ceased and everything hung in that moment of time for an instant of eternity. 

Suspended in that state with a curse half formed in her mind and taking forever to reach her lips, Carolina watched the seams of the sarcophagus emit a faint orange glow that at once expanded and engulfed her. 

The words in her throat cut off in one dimension and finished in another, but the only things she recognized were that one; they were no longer falling, two; York and Wash were sprawled on the floor like starfish and three; the guys in the yellow HAZMAT suits looked both confused and frightened.

"What the _fuck_." She said again.

[03:14 am Tuesday, Anomaly Day 1- Elbert, GA] 

It took all of ten minutes to secure the facility and round up the yellow suited survivors, another five to get a broken story from a sobbing tech, ten seconds to break into their systems and strangely, about fifteen minutes before the first man declared his loyalty to Carolina. Before he even finished there was a solid divide in the ranks, a good three quarters for Carolina and a small cluster of devout (yet terrified) holdouts. 

While she was understandably baffled, York shook a manual at her that contained acceptable actions for the facility personnel, many included fleeing, several concerned surrender but none discussed allegiance. Her conclusion was that while almost everyone was a scientist, almost all of them were poorly trained, inadequately paid cowards.

"Boss, from looking at these scans I can tell you that we are nowhere near familiar territory." Washington made a frustrated gesture at the monitor in front him, his helmeted face was probably scrunched in his perpetual expression of confusion. 

"Makes sense, we haven't had radio contact with command since we followed the sarcophagus through." Carolina tapped an armored finger to her sidearm. "So where are we?"

"Well..." Washington had that whine in his tone that she had learned to loathe, even over the comms it was the one that said he knew she was about to throttle him in inch from death. "'Where' is the easy answer."

York laughed from in front of another monitor. "Don't try too hard, you'll hurt yourself." He swiveled his chair to face her. "What he means is: We're on Earth."

"What? How?" Carolina ran the calculations in her head. "That's months-"

York waggled a finger at her. "And that is not the weirdest thing, Carolina." He jabbed at the keyboard and made a series of news reports bloom onto the main 100 inch monitor in the data room.

She scanned the articles with growing frustration. "So this isn't even _our_ Earth."

"Hmm, no." He chucked. "The divergence is clearer around the early twentieth century, after that, this Earth and ours have very little in common." York affirmed.

Washington was holding the chin of his helmet, deep in thought. "We're five hundred years from when we're supposed to be. So, are we actually five hundred years off or did this Earth start late?"

A sound of irritation escaped her. "Don't care. I want you two to learn everything you can about this, this _timeline_. York, start at ten years ago and Wash, a hundred. Make me a summary, history, politics, weapons, tech... Hell, every _thing_ and every _one_ that matters right now." Carolina pivoted on balls of her feet and marched towards the holding cells.

"Carolina wait, what are you gonna do?" 

She stopped but didn't face York. "Whatever these idiots did, it dragged us here. I'm taking this facility over and these fuckers are sending us back."

York and Washington waited until she had cleared the room before either uttered a word.

Washington managed to beat York to the punch. “If they put up a fight, I am _not_ on cleanup duty.”

York only laughed quietly in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC Universe 16 is mostly unused, its the universe where the JLA has been most successful and The Team (different version of Teen Titans) is made up of the sidekicks to go out and about keeping a low profile to bypass the JLA's celebrity status.  
> In Red vs Blue canon, the Sarcophagus contained an alien, this one has a trans-dimensional thingy.  
> Washington may seem to be immature compared to RvB, but remember that this is before Project Freelancer broke his mind and all that life was thrown at him. So yea, still the rookie.  
> I'm picking and choosing my favorite parts of the DC and Marvel Universes because _reasons_. It's in the title.  
>  About updating: I'm on a roadtrip and have been for over a year now so it may be sporadic though I'll try for Monday's.  
> http://emarislaughsmaniacally.tumblr.com/


	2. Let’s just stick with the basics…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing is in the strange position of ‘not a sidekick anymore’ and ‘not quite yet old enough to legally join a superhero team’ and not everyone wants to admit that they can’t wait for Batman to let the kid loose. Because seriously, _his skills_.  
>  Dick Grayson just wants everyone to stop nagging at him and just let him mentor The Team in secret, because really; they can hero just as good as anyone.

[10:37 am Tuesday, Anomaly Day 1 - Justice League of America Headquarters: The Watchtower. Orbit over Southeast Asia]

J'onn Jonzz stared deeply into the abyss of space, eyes bypassing the earth nearby and tried to ignore the sounds around him. New employees and volunteers scurried through the halls and assisted heroes in installing equipment, rearranging furniture and various other tasks to get the newly refurbished Watchtower in order.

He clasped his hands behind his back in thought. Mostly they were scuttling around him and gawking but J'onn paid them no mind, their curiosity would fade eventually.

He took note of Specialist Trevor as the man marched towards him. "Sir, Dr. Richards just sent us a report about an anomaly in Georgia." The specialist slid closer, trying to get J'onn's attention by offering up the thick stack papers.

The Martian didn't move to take them.

"That facility belongs to AIM and as such, it falls under the jurisdiction of the Avengers. Send them the report and send Reed the PowerPoint that covers chain of command."

Specialist Trevor lifted a brow. "Sir?"

J'onn half turned and stared the man down. "It has a flow chart on jurisdiction and active authorities, Reed really must memorize it."

From a set of desks haphazardly pushed aside, a shadow smoothly approached to snatch the papers out of Trevor's hands. "And I'll get this to the Avengers."

"Kid, you know you're not supposed be in the Watchtower without a babysitter. How'd you get in this time?" The specialist was more tired than angry and didn't even try to grab the papers back.

"Aww, cmon Harold, you know I have an open invitation." Nightwing smirked, waving the stack at the two adults. "Besides, Hal was showing me some new tech."

To his senses, it tasted like a lie, but he refrained from investigating Nightwing's mind. Batman was going to be very unhappy, J'onn thought. "Breaking into the Watchtower will not help your case when you come up for review next year, Nightwing."

Not that anyone would bother to care, the young man could probably get away with murder and then get a pat on the head.

Perhaps a J'onn would also participate.

Nightwing could hear the almost-exasperation in his voice and smiled. "Fine. I'll head back to Mount Justice." He set off towards the teleportation pad and keyed coordinates onto a nearby panel and strode onto a circle on the raised floor. "After I make a delivery to the Avengers." The teen vanished.

"A Leaguer next year, already?" The human sighed loudly. "Man, I can't believe that kid is gonna take up Batman's cowl." Trevor lamented.

J'onn glanced down at the man and then turned his attention back to the window to resume his vigil.

Only meditation would take the image of a Batsuit trimmed with the horrid Nightwing design that Dick had originally dreamt up.

°°°°°  


[10:56 am Tuesday, Anomaly Day 1 - Manhattan, New York, NY]

Fact of vigilante life: Popping out of a zeta-tube was only interesting anymore when half of the process involved maintaining a low profile during the day in traffic.

Dick turned his head to take in his surroundings, pulling the muscles in his neck lightly as he compensated for his narrowed sight lines due to his motorcycle helmet.

Nothing.

Just a rundown side street under a bridge in Manhattan with a few rusty cars creeping along on the rough road.

‘No, ladies and gentlemen, I did not just get off of platform 9 ¾.’ His inner monologue died away as he watched a car drift lazily by.

The dreary eyed drone at the wheel was none the wiser. ‘Nothing to see here.’

Sometimes it amazed him what he could get away with in plain sight.

Dick tugged the zipper all the way up against his neck habitually even though the blue emblem on his chest was safely hidden under his plain black riding jacket and his masked face was concealed behind his face shield.

The day was a little too warm to justify the jacket but just about anything flew in this city. He didn’t expect to get out of uniform until he returned to Mount Justice later (hopefully) in the evening.

He grinned to himself and set his weight into his right foot to start the motorcycle, if he was lucky he would be able to get to Stark’s labs in Queens before the lunch rush. Their zeta-beam was one of a few direct lines to Avengers Tower anymore and he really didn’t feel like standing around in the tower’s lobby for an hour dodging fans and cameras.

°°°°°

[11:49 am Tuesday, Anomaly Day 1 - Avengers Tower, New York, NY]

The pad he landed on was small, maybe big enough for four people standing shoulder to shoulder, but Dick stretched out with a smirk to let the biometric scanners identify him and tapped on the impervious glass that circled the teleportation pad and completely trapped him from floor to ceiling.

"Welcome, Nightwing. May I inquire to the nature of your visit to Avengers Tower?"

"Delivery for Mr. Stark.” He waived the sheaf of papers at the nearest camera and knocked on the glass again. “Dr. Richards sent mail to the wrong address again, Jarvis."

There was a brief moment of silence wherein Jarvis relayed the information to the master of the tower and then the ground hissed, swallowing the glass with an unnecessary ping. 

"Sir will meet you on the communal floor, Nightwing." The AI triggered a green light next to a series of elevators and opened a lift.

Though the view was familiar, Dick stared out at the city as the lift climbed higher. Pulsing with life as ever, he smiled inwardly and hoped the Avengers were gathered in the tower.

His eyes flicked to a particularly bright splotch of a lime green car way down below, it’s make and model popping into his head automatically.

Alright, he hoped Clint and Natasha were in at least.

When Batman had unleashed him years ago as Robin to The Team, Dick had thoroughly exploited the freedom and used every new JLA approved mission to access or infiltrate as many super teams as he could get away with. Of all of the groups he had come into contact with, the Avengers had been the most interesting. 

Thor in particular had been both difficult and entertaining. His initial reaction had been a mixture of annoyance and disdain for the JLA and their habit of ‘keeping’ underage heroes. Even though the Avengers’ contract with SHIELD prevented underage hero’s much like the JLA’s did. And just like the JLA’s regulations it didn’t prevent them from maintaining a small training program that strictly forbade direct confrontations unless there was a mass casualty threat looming. That had only barely made teen heroes tolerable for the god.

Then the frog incident happened, and the deity had demanded an agreement between the JLA and Stark that sidekicks be allowed to train with SHIELD’s underage trainees.

That had devolved into Jarvis setting up a kitchen specifically for Bart, Sam, and Wally. Also: random birthday party invitations from Stark.

Because; why not?

When Clint and Natasha joined the Avengers just over a year ago, Clint had pestered and bullied for more ‘cross-training’. That it had been approved maybe had something to do with the fact that the two groups of teens needed a babysitter and it kept Clint from causing trouble elsewhere. 

Except for the surprise nerf wars. Captain America had been dismayed when the sidekicks had managed to ‘control’ the tower in several mock king of hill battles against the trainees (who may or may not have had the Captain calling the shots).

It was more likely that whatever Clint wanted, Natasha secured with a vice grip and delivered with a ‘Can you shut the hell up now’ glare.

 

The lift paused before opening its doors which gave Dick enough time to jerk out of his slouch and angle himself further from the exit.  
At three in the afternoon he was faintly surprised that Stark was lounging in the common floor dressed in worn jeans and t-shirt with his feet clad in expensive sneakers on a coffee table and a water bottle in one hand. Then he noticed that the large flat screen was playing recent clips of the Avengers in action and Stark was sporadically calling out for Jarvis to save a series of frames. 

Like Batman, the man was always working, even on his down time.

Dick added the thought to his mental box that was filled already with the similarities and differences between Batman and Ironman. After several years of constant comparison, his conclusion was that they were very alike but it was almost like a mirror effect. Similar, but at the same time opposing. Some basic connections began with how both relied on superior intellect and designed many of their own tools and gadgets. Both were wealthy, almost ran their own companies and operated in the same social circles.

Why was it though, that the men behind WE and SI had never really befriended each other? As always, his conclusion was that A: Bruce Wayne simply avoided Tony Stark like the plague because he was determined to be a friendless bastard and B: Stark was simply oblivious to Wayne because Wayne had his silly rich idiot act perfected. Also there was conclusion C: Bruce zealously guarded his Batman identity and a genius was risky to hang around with.

The teen closed the box back up in his mind with an internal shrug, years of observation, plenty of speculation and zero results.

Dick quickly flopped himself onto a loveseat and waited for Stark’s attention. Stark didn’t notice. "Mr. Stark, you've got _fan_ mail from Mr. _Fan_ tastic." He didn't offer up the papers, just dropped the stack onto the coffee table and relaxed into the cushions. Dick surreptitiously examined the the fancy footwear and allowed himself to acknowledge that Stark was in fact, a sneakerhead.

 

"It's daytime." Stark said absently, attention slowly drawing away from the screen. 

Ah, it was one of those days. 

"I can exist in the sunlight.” Dick had managed to get hands on the remote and paused the clips leaving Hulk mid-scream at the Juggernaught. “Seriously. Not a vampire."

"It’s _Nightwing._ Not Daywing." Stark shook his water bottle at the teen for emphasis, eyeing the papers near his feet with an expression that could have been curiosity or apprehension.

"Look, the JLA asked me to bring this by, so I did." He flicked his hand in nonchalance. 

"Oh, really?" Stark glared at him with crossed arms and a smug smirk. "That's not what Mr. Terrific texted me. Your old man even know you're here?"

By now he did, but the guy probably didn’t give a damn. Dick still didn’t understand why many seemed to think the Bat fretted after his charges. If he didn’t want them to do something, he would usually tell them before the idea even manifested in their heads.

"Batman isn't my dad." Oh, Dick, bending the truth and lie to preserve your identity. When had it become so easy?

"And yet, here you are; in a creepy unitard and a semi-permanent allergy to the sun." Stark gestured expansively with his water bottle again. "You know you didn't once make it out into the sunlight? I mean, this entire _room_ is made up of windows, kid." He laughed at Nightwing’s expression of disbelief. Dick could have sworn the engineer hadn’t been paying attention. “Do you have to psych yourself up to go out in civies during the day? To take off the mask? Be honest now.” He waggled his eyebrows and used the bottle as punctuation again.

Dick wasn't sure there was a way to win an argument with a Stark, so he tried to get back to business. "Do you want to know about the weird crap happening in an AIM base in Georgia or not?" He reached to pull the stack of papers away, but Stark dropped a heavy heel on them and dragged the stack out of range.

"You see, Superman has asked me no less than five times if I'm somehow bribing you and the other sidekicks into joining the Avengers when you come up for review. I mean, it’s great that he’s thinking about you kids..." He let that thought trail off as he made some strange connection to Superman and the sidekicks. It probably wasn’t pretty (because Superman was very obviously still weird about Kon-El) so Stark planted his feet on the ground and leaned forward with an intense expression. Dick could almost see Stark’s thoughts floating away. "And if Batman says something at the next Council of Heroes..."

"Yea?" Dick pretended to hold his breath, putting a little extra effort into raising a nonchalant but concerned eyebrow.

"I'll have to admit that bribes don't work on you kids." Stark shook his head woefully and pressed the water bottle to his chest. "Like, really; I have to rely on work and dumb luck to get anyone to visit anymore."

Inwardly he was laughing; but to Stark, Nightwing only gave a tight, relieved smile.

"You were, what? Eleven when you started?" Dick rolled his eyes behind the lenses of his mask as Stark continued to act out. "I had to make thirty separate security protocols for the JLA’s sidekicks! Even SHIELD’s bozo’s never gave me such a headache. But then you guys started growing up, didn’t come around anymore, doing more and more JLA stuff. And now you're seventeen! You don’t do that creepy laugh! Hell, you hardly even laugh anymore. Do you even have a girlfriend? Have you graduated high school? Did you even _go_ to prom?" Stark huffed as he sulked, sinking into the couch morosely. "Robin doesn’t come around anymore either."

Oh, for Pete's sake, he’d organize another damn raid on Avenger’s Tower if it made Stark stop moaning about it. Wherever this was coming from, Dick wanted no part of it. 

Really man, get your own sidekick.

"Mr. Stark, the Georgia file?" Jeez, Stark had looked like he was about to burst into tears, instead he gave Dick a brilliant smile and snatched the file up, speed reading through the data. Seriously, the guy’s mood changed so quickly it was a wonder he never gave himself emotional whiplash. Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes or relax his posture this time. Batman’s ‘tell suppression’ training had been tedious and Dick did not want to go through it again.

"Hmm." Stark read through the entire stack again, fingers quickly typing relevant information onto his StarkPad that had appeared from apparently nowhere. "No fucking way."

Dick would have preferred to wait it out before asking what Stark had read in the report, but the inventor had turned grim and serious. "Look kid, we're gonna have to send you home later, Bats doesn’t like you kids staying here past eight without permission." Meaning that Stark had probably received more than just a text from Mr. Terrific. "But go let loose in the gym with the twins. Tell them to limber up, if this is what I think it is, we've got shit to do tonight."

Stark had started walking towards a small elevator a few meters to the left of the main set, the one that led to his personal lab. “Say hello to SHIELD’s newest trainee, Fury tied the kid up and delivered him with a shiny red bow last Monday. Don’t scare him, he’s skittish.” The inventor was mostly speaking to his device as he continued to jab it aggressively. “Spider-punk or whatever, he’s about your age.” He gave Dick an absent minded wave good-bye and asked Jarvis to conference call Captain America and Bruce Banner through the elevator speakers.

Quite aware that the building was saturated with cameras, Dick strode purposefully back to the service elevator. “To the gym, if you please; Jarvis.”

He pulled out a black phone that was a not-quite-legal mixture of different tech and sent off a message to The Team. _“At Avengers Tower. Who’s the new SHIELD hero trainee?”_ There was a small frown on his face as he leaned against the rear wall. 

Dick thought he had known all the trainees. The last surprise trainee had been half a train wreck and half an international incident waiting to happen.

_Spider-punk._

Stark must have meant the little guy the news had been decrying for the past two years. Spiderman. Punk. Dick rolled the four letters around in his head like ice in a glass. The trainee had been at the tower a week before he had gotten under Stark’s skin.

In Dick’s book, Punk now spelt Trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of warning, I'm posting the chapters as I think of them, but I fully expect doing a re-write at some point.  
> I tried to keep Tony… Tony, but it didn’t really work out that way..


	3. Extra Aspirin please, hold the sass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training for the new kid isn’t really _for_ the new kid.  
>  Mostly it's to keep the twins from getting bored.  
> ___  
> Sorry for the delay, I drove west to escape the snowstorms in NE America.  
> If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to message and/or include prompts.  
> 

[12:30 pm Tuesday, Anomaly Day 1 - Avengers Tower, New York, NY]

Even though he had come across some rather strange training sessions before, (like when they had first tried to communicate without sound. Stark had burst into several rants by the end of the training.) Dick still wasn’t fully prepared to find Black Widow stuck to a far wall a good five meters off the ground, encased in a thready white substance. Nor had he ever witnessed the full spectrum of Hawkeye’s acrobatic abilities unleashed with such ferocity in perfect synchronization with training turrets zeroed in on Spiderman.

Despite his six foot three inch height and muscular bulk, Hawkeye was matching the spider well enough to keep him from suffering the same fate as the Widow but otherwise he wasn’t gaining much ground.  
Spider-punk, or rather the infamous Spiderman, looked to be all of five feet tall and was dodging automated projectiles and pseudo-laser beams by leaping off of every possible surface and crouching at impossible angles while shooting gunky threads from his hands trying to eliminate his targets. The speed and agility came in such forceful bursts that Nightwing wondered why he didn't just try for a few grazing punches, the kid looked like he was restraining himself to the point of pain.

Dick quickly made his way over to Widow and tried to find a way to cut her down without making himself too obvious. She shook her head at his knife, almost growling when her luxurious red locks became stuck in the material. “I’ve got this, get out there.”

He gave her an innocent smile and leaned against the wall instead. “You hang out around here much?” 

Sure she was about sixty but damn, it was hard to remember when she was stuck in her mid twenties.

Her return smile was not exactly nice. “Not really, just got a little held up.” She jerked her chin back at the action. “Six minutes left, Handsome.” She strained against the webbing. “ Super strength, senses and reflexes. Ten second immobilization and we win.” He was almost disturbed to watch her limbs struggle under the white substance but didn't move to help. 

Dick raised a skeptical brow. “One: Hysterical. And two: _we?_ You seem to be out for the moment, Nat.” Her smile seemed sharper somehow.

Yea, he would probably pay for that later. Or sooner. Or whenever she decided to cash it in. 

Still, he couldn’t help a fierce grin as his heartbeat accelerated at the word ‘ _win_ ’.

"He's good, but it's pure instinct and luck." She jerked her chin and Dick turned to get a look at the action. “His stamina and ability to predict an opponent's moves only keep him a few steps ahead.” Black Widow was suddenly at his side with a slight burning smell and Dick didn’t bother to ask what she had done to get herself free.

“Three at once?” He flexed his arms, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and frowned. Hawkeye was pushing the kid back but he was also beginning to get frustrated and the kid’s blue and red suit was torn in several places. Many of the cuts were freely oozing blood. Crappy material on SHIELD’s watch? Strange. “You guys seem a little rough on him.”

“Heals fast. Threw Cap yesterday." Natasha shrugged as they eased into a jog that picked up speed into a full-on sprint. 

Internally, Dick tripped over the thought of the lank Avenger-cub throwing anything heavier than a gallon of water and reexamined the kid's fighting style, not eager to be injured during training. 

Spiderman was wild, reaching and striking at every and any opportunity, and judging from the splotches of color blooming on Hawkeye's skin, he didn't quite know how to control his strength. Black Canary would have lost her mind at the haphazard street thug fighting style. They must be testing his skills Dick surmised, if Spiderman had faced Captain America yesterday then the twins would be testing his agility today.

Nightwing liked crashing training sessions with different teams as either aggressor or asset, but working with Hawkeye and Black Widow had always been a cross of a desperately-needing-to-stay-alive and joyfully-not-really-caring-if-he-didn’t. The twins rarely needed to speak during active maneuvers and when Dick had jumped into a two on one match to give a fresh Falcon an edge, it was on like Donky Kong. The pair had been so harassed by Dick’s laughter and ability to read their tactics that they had almost completely ignored Sam to get Dick hog-tied and out of the way. Getting a Robin subdued was not an easy feat and had cost them too much energy to win against Falcon in the end. 

Batman had been less than pleased when Batgirl neglected to untie him before teleporting them both back to Mount Justice. 

That incident had earned him three weeks of remedial training in escapeology. 

But hey, he also got a giant tin full of Mrs. Wilson’s cookies. 

Now however, Dick hardly had to think of where Widow was going as opposed to where he should be to give her a proper opening, not to mention take some of the attention off of Hawkeye.

If he ever really listened to Tim, he would probably be more concerned that Bat tactics were so similar to those of the spy and the assassin. 

Nightwing lithely jumped for the tallest of the uneven bars and pumped his body into a hard swing, using the momentum to launch himself at a set of high ladder bars hanging from the ceiling, aware that the distance would have been too great for almost anyone else and was immeasurably pleased. Stark had spared no expense on the equipment when Hawkeye had requested a plethora of bars, rings, swings, platforms, and ropes to maintain his acrobatic prowess. With Dick’s coaching, he had improved greatly.

As he closed in on the struggle, Nightwing slipped easily over and under the bars and beams, catching Spiderman’s attention randomly and, as he reached them, focused more on distracting the kid by making grabs and feints. He tried not to flinch when a projectile whizzed by too closely to his face and varied from deliberately setting his aim to be centimeters or entire hand spans off in between sharp strikes.

The tactic seemed to confuse Spider-punk at first but his concentration began to flag and the kid’s movements belied a slow-burning but rising frenzy of desperation. Together with Nightwing's unsettling approach and Hawkeye's aggressive and amazingly relentless attacks, they pushed the kid higher into the beams where even they were surprised when Black Widow struck. 

She had angled herself so precisely that even though her initial strike was (miraculously) dodged, the kid had been forced to step onto a short hanging platform and into Nightwing's contorted arm lock that Hawkeye immediately imitated on on his left side. 

Widow took the opening and deftly stuck her thumbs into the soft parts of the kid's knees, pulling him down to kneel with the weight of the two men to keep his legs pinned beneath him. 

The kid squirmed and let out a labored. "Son of a lizard!" Nightwing was thinking the same thing. He wasn’t sure if the kid was using his full strength, but even if he wasn’t, Spiderman’s struggle was still wrenching joints and straining muscles with the added joy of a really long drop as they fought to stay on the small, wobbling space.

"Relax. Session over." Widow carefully released the abruptly lax body and leaned back slightly. She smirked at Spider-kid’s squeak when the platform shifted ominously. The chains at each corner had clinked at the tension rather than the combined weight of the four heroes on the ten foot square space. Hawkeye (who was visibly the most exhausted and sweaty) took up most of the space with his annoying habit of man-spreading but shifted his knees so that both men could face each other and recline against a chain. 

"How are you doing, Spiderman?" Hawkeye thumped Spider-punks back and laughed when the kid simply wormed between Hawkeye and Nightwing to lay on his back and catch his breath with his legs dangling over the end the platform at the knees. Widow planted herself to the right side of his legs and swung her feet up and over to the other side of Spiderman’s knees.

Wheezing seemed to make speech difficult. "I hate all of you." Spider-punk unstuck his tongue from the roof of his with a dry click and Dick wrinkled his nose at the sound. "So much." He waived a shaky hand towards Widow especially but dropped it quickly to his belly. "Jerks. All of you."

“You’ll live.” Widow always had the most encouraging things to say. “That’s the last run we’ll do until Falcon gets back next week.” 

“Oh.” Gasp. “Thank God.” The kid was still wheezing but his chest stopped heaving as much and he visibly relaxed. 

Hawkeye caught Nightwing’s eye by quickly wiping the pads of four fingers down one cheek and then the other as a greeting, not noticing that he smeared blood from a split lip like war paint down the side of his chin. ‘Handsome.’

Nightwing let out a huff and thumped the pinky end of his closed fist twice against his temple in response. ‘Asshole.’ 

Widow rolled her eyes at both of them when they directed their attention at her in unison. She raised a brow at the varied levels of mischievousness in their eyes but resolutely kept her grip tight on her shins, satisfied with the verbal greeting from earlier.

Unperturbed, he shifted his attention to the kid and Dick covertly cataloged the cuts in the red and blue uniform. Almost all the lacerations had already closed and Spider-punk hardly looked be in pain, but Dick was certain the moment he moved with too much force, his larger cuts would split and bleed again. In contrast, Hawkeye's arms (among other things) would be a dreadful shade of violet with a few cuts on his hands, Widow's jaw was starting to swell on the left side and Dick shifted discreetly to test the pull of his muscles. Dick's back and shoulders were slowly starting ache from restraining the little guy, but the feeling was a far cry from the pain Hawkeye and Widow would be feeling tomorrow. 

The bug eyed head shifted to look at Nightwing almost accusingly. The sticky sound of his dry mouth seemed louder than it should have. "And who the schwartz are you?" 

Dick wasn’t exactly sure he should have smothered his laugh but luckily restrained himself from reprimanding the hero.

Embarrassingly, the social graces Alfred had painstakingly drilled into him reared up, and the words they neighed in the space between his ears brought a vexed frown to his lips.

"Well, how _gauche._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that, four people who don’t mind heights. Huh. I need to find a way to make this terrorize someone.  
> In their respective comics, Dick and Natasha are fluent in many of the same languages including ASL. Clint usually is trilingual with English, ASL, and Italian, but I like him, so abracadabra.  
> Sorry about the lame fight sequence. I'll try to do better and then edit this one at a later date.  
> I am not fluent in ASL nor am I deaf or hard of hearing. I reference http://www.signingsavvy.com/, so if I get it wrong in the future, please correct me. Also, other languages.


	4. Leave the spying to the professionals.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the new Avenger trainee requires more note taking than Nightwing anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, un-beta'd. All mistakes are mine.  
> Writing while sleep deprived is maybe not good, I'm considering a re-write.  
> Opinions, suggestions?

[12:45 pm Tuesday, Anomaly Day 1 - Avengers Tower, New York, NY]

Behind the lenses of his mask, Nightwing examined a cut on the kid’s mask at the jawline exposing a scabbed over wound. Dick had already cataloged it, but still. Freaky.

"Spiderman of New York, meet Nightwing of Gotham." Hawkeye said pleasantly, trying to sound like he wasn't out of breath. "He's the Justice League's unofficial liaison to, well everyone that hates dealing with that bag of righteous dicks." He gave Dick an insolent smile and upped the wattage when Dick kicked his dangling foot. "Which is everyone."

"Thanks Barton, I'm sure Big Blue would love to hear that." If the kid weren't there, he'd have flipped Hawkeye the bird, instead Dick nudged Spiderman's shoulder with a knee, suddenly caving to his curiosity.

"Stark called you Spider-punk. What'd you do?" Dick vividly remembered three months of being called ‘Robin-Hoodlum’ after chasing a jewelry thief through one of Stark’s glitzy parties. Stark had never admitted to having more fun while Dick crashed the party than the event itself but maintained his accusation that Dick, as Robin, had ruined the party on purpose. 

Spiderman jerked like he'd been electrocuted, shaking the platform with force. "Nothing!" He clutched at his throat dramatically. 

Dick couldn't suppress his laugh and only laughed harder at Spiderman's mortified groan.

"I didn't do anything! I just started training two days ago, I was nervous! I mean, _Bruce Banner and Tony Stark!_ He make fun of my suit so I said something back! But Fury said to be nice so I said ‘sorry’." The kid shook his fist at the ceiling and spoke quickly with one breath. "But he just didn't stop!" Spiderman smacked the ball of his palm between the bug eyes of his mask. "And then _I couldn't stop!_ "

“Honestly, they’re so alike its frightening.” Widow stated with a frown, her eyes clearly amused with that fact despite her detached mien.

"If Bruce hadn't locked them up, they might have gone on to 'yo momma'. It was beautiful." Hawkeye wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

"No, it wasn't! I’ve only been here a week and your pirate stalker is going to flip the heck out!" Spiderman gasped and sat up lightning fast, rocking the platform dangerously. "The Director said they'd pay me only if I was good! And _God_ I heckled Dr. Stark!” He uttered an agonized moan and made a helpless motion with his hands.“I can’t get in trouble!" 

Widow rolled her eyes again. " _Bratushka_. Tony's not used to having people meet him like that. His own level. It’s no big deal. Fury even smiled about it." She patted him on the head awkwardly. 

Dick opened a new mental box comparing Tony Stark and Spiderman. Item one: Flair for the dramatic or anxiety disorder? 

He opened a separate box just for the small teen and dropped a few choice observations into it but Dick had a feeling he would be more entertained with the Stark vs Spiderman section. Tim would be unhappy if he didn't bring back some interesting information.

Spiderman sunk back down between to two men and was silent for a few seconds then made Dick flinch when the kid jabbed a finger at him. "Dude, how old are you? Were you a trainee too?" 

Dick flashed some teeth at the kid and snatched his hand as the runt tried to jab him again. “No, the key word in secret identity is ‘secret’.” 

Spiderman tried to wiggle his arm free but Dick tightened his grip, annoyed that the kid had startled him into grabbing a super-human’s arm. Seriously, that was What Not To Do As a Normal Person 101.

Spiderman began to fidget and tried to reclaim his arm with a little less than human strength. "They didn’t make you tell them?" Dick didn’t miss the slight pull of displeasure on Hawkeye’s mouth.

Item two: Conflicting opinions regarding their public status. Stark: Extroverted. Spiderman: Reclusive.

The blonde agent cleared his throat unhappily. "Really, only the Director and Fury know. Maybe a surveillance tech or two." Hawkeye looked like he had more to say but Dick shook his head and (almost) rolled his eyes when Hawkeye made a subtle motion to keep going and signed quickly at Nightwing. _”Doesn’t want - talk.”_

No kidding, being bullied by SHIELD and beaten up by the Avengers sounded like the best pathways for open conversation. Especially with Black Widow’s hungry, intense stares and Hawkeye's calculating, menacing glowers. He wondered briefly if the kid had signed up for this gig of his own volition, but from Hawkeye’s pensive expression, doubted it.

"That sucks, man." Dick switched his grip on the other teens arm and still annoyed, yanked hard, dragging the kid halfway off the platform. "Holy hell, you're like, barely a hundred pounds!" 

Spiderman didn't seem concerned in the least that Nightwing was trying to push him off but he still gave a token struggle. "I'm a little... short for my age." 

"Yea? You should eat more." Dick strained to move him again but Spiderman had planted his free hand on the metal and didn't budge another inch. Tim could call that ‘fascinating’. "And just how old _are_ you?" 

"Ask the Director." Dick sensed that the kid was suddenly angry and dropped the arm, raising his hands to show he was dropping the matter as well. 

Item four: Dislike for, Director Coulson. That one would make even Superboy confused, Dick could count on one, maybe two hands the number of people who didn’t like Phil.

Dick shot the twins a reciprocated look of confusion before he leveled a charitable smile at Widow. "Anyway, I came here to give Stark some intel, he's working it right now. Wanted me to tell you that the Avengers might get called out tonight." He couldn't resist a grin at Hawkeye's quiet _yes_. “I’m not supposed to know it’s somewhere in Georgia.” He paused, wondering if Stark’s reaction was important. “Whatever it is, it got him worked up.” 

Black Widow shrugged, typing furiously on a phone she could have pulled from any one of her many pockets. “Great. We’re going to need someone to take him back to headquarters."

Spiderman leapt straight up into the rafters and then swung back down to the ground on his webbing. He had barely moved the platform. “I already told the Director that I have a place to stay.”

“Yeah, well; wherever it is, he doesn’t like it!” Hawkeye called out. 

When Spiderman had dashed to the showers, Hawkeye puffed his cheeks out in exasperation. “What the flying fuck, man. Sometimes it's like he's in the chocolate factory and then..." He clenched his fist and shook it. "Brat doesn't talk about anything that isn't work. May says I'm responsible for stuff he does, like he goes around beating civilians. And then I don't even know what SHIELD's got on him."

Dick lifted a brow in question. “Got on him?” He almost scoffed at the blonde man. “He might be super, but he’s upset about mouthing off to _Stark_. It doesn’t seem like he’s got the disposition of a trouble maker. What I want to know is why hasn’t he run if he doesn’t want to be here? It’s not like he’s easy to catch.” Dick gave them a stern frown and mentally reminded himself to avoid the word ‘pirate’. “How _did_ Fury get him to come in, I thought he was supposed to be pretending to be dead?” The recovering agency was notoriously difficult to work for as a superhero even before it's collapse two years ago which was why the Justice League had so many more divisions globally under charter with the UN. 

Without the luxurious funding they used to enjoy, SHIELD now relied on mutually beneficial agreements or (according to rumors) threats and ultimatums and operated under the World Security Council, something most heroes were innately wary of. The subsequent reality was that the JLA was considered more of a police force to the Avengers’ ‘specialist’ status and it was no wonder that the Avengers only had a handful of members and a mere dozen reserve agents legally employed by Stark. The Avengers had done their best to distance themselves from SHIELD and the WSC, but the connections ran deep.

Widow shifted her shoulder in a subtle shrug. “I heard they walked right in together, never heard how it happened.” 

His skin prickled in mute surprise, there was very little The Black Widow didn't know, especially if it involved the Avengers. He red flagged the note and tried to stuff it down before he spent too much time analyzing it.

Hawkeye picked up the end of her sentence like he had said it. “But ol’ one-eye’s been showing his hand here and there.” 

With their delivery, it sounded like they were telling him a scary story but they knew who he worked with and they couldn’t possibly have been trying to creep him out. 

Dick tried to read the agents again, not sure if his erratic exposure to them as Robin had been enough to reveal to their genuine responses. 

Their faces were serious and on the verge of conveying some meaning.

Green and blue eyes slid away when his expression shifted into something neutral instead of curious.

They had just given him a warning, but what about? He red flagged that information too.

“So what’s the theory?” Dick asked indifferently as he shifted to check his phone. 

No messages.

Widow waved a hand curtly in the boy’s direction. “It’s blackmail, the press has him pegged as a villain and Spiderman _loves_ being Spiderman. The police work with him now but if the public demands it, they would have to arrest him on principle. It would devastate him.” She turned to Hawkeye expectantly.

The Hawk's current expression was pinched, almost pained. “I think he had some trouble, maybe at his school, maybe a foster home or orphanage. That probably got SHIELD’s attention.” The twins nodded, in sync with each other without even trying. “But yeah, SHIELD’s holding the identity card.” 

Like they still held onto Hawk and Widow’s records, Dick thought. He really couldn’t explain to the average person the enigma that was Clinton F. Barton and Natasha Romanov which, was probably not her real name. After New York's Chitauri attack, an aging former KGB agent had railed to everyone that would listen that the Avengers' Black Widow had been a fellow KGB operative _decades_ ago. Batman, of course, indulged the idea and had once suggested that he had evidence to prove it. Much like everything else the Boss decided upon, Dick found it hard to argue with his logic.

Widow was (legally) in her mid to late twenties and Hawkeye was in his early twenties with (according to Batman) enough combined kills under their belts to make Batman threaten them with arrest at their first (and very public) Council of Heroes over four years ago after the Battle of New York. That incident, surprisingly, had been the moment that Dick had been made aware of how truly paranoid his mentor sounded to other heroes. Regardless, he was relieved he had never tried to argue with Batman about his accusations, the evidence (or lack thereof) had slowly been turning up even before Black Widow made the information (if it was accurate) public after SHIELD had literally burned to the ground. 

That had earned him many apologies from other heroes, not that Batman had done more than shrug or grunt about it. But really, Hawkeye was known within the narrow group of heroes as something of a walking accident and Black Widow was considered to be an apathetic loner when not bailing him out of trouble. Dick could see why so few had sided with Batman about them, even if others had seen how effectively the two had functioned within the Avengers, the hawk and spider had managed to pass as... well, maybe not sheep. Wolves? Guard dogs? 

Strangely, Batman found it maddeningly suspicious that the pair donated heavily to charities when they couldn’t volunteer their time, but then again, he was a little invested.

Dick realized he had been quiet a shade too long. “What makes you think he’s alone?”

Hawkeye unknowingly pressed four fingers above his brow and then flashed Nightwing his palm in frustration to sign ‘Don’t know’. “He’s used to moving around, isn’t afraid to talk back, doesn’t like adults, hides food, doesn’t like talking about holidays or birthdays. Hell, just look at him.” 

Dick glanced at Widow with a raised brow trying to silently ask; ‘and see what’?

“Would your parents really let you out in that getup?” She asked innocently, convincing Dick that the clothes weren’t what Hawkeye had meant.

He pointedly looked down at the blue stripes of the gloves on his blue and black outfit. Who the hell were the three of them to judge, shitty backgrounds were almost a requirement of heroes. What sane person would live this life? 

The kid stashed food.

Damnit, the comment about Spiderman's weight suddenly twisted in his head with meaning. Way to go, Dick.

The archer shook his head, still frustrated. “I had to take him to medical last week when they assigned him to me. The nurse had to leave, she wouldn't stop asking about his scars and his x-rays were a fucking _mess_. I lost him for two days after that.” Dick didn’t miss the diagonal gesture across his chest when Hawkeye had said scars, as though Spiderman had been sliced from right shoulder to left hip. “I know he has a hideout somewhere, but he won’t talk to me.” Hawkeye slumped and frowned at Widow dejectedly even as she wrinkled her nose at him. Dick wondered suddenly why the Tragedy had been roped into being the kid's handler.

Widow's expression was contemplative. “If he’s been taking care of himself it might be near a clinic or hospital. I’m thinking above ground, he doesn’t like to get his suit wet or stay on the ground too much.” 

Dick was suddenly struck with the realization that the twins genuinely trusted him. 

Well, as much as you could trust someone to help you hunt down a human being. He held onto the feeling anyway. It was as rare as a Bat-hug.

Dick tilted his head. “He said Dr. Stark.” Sure, the guy had like four PhDs and a myriad other honors in various subjects, but Stark was a bombastic celebrity, the only thing people called him was Ironman or Mr. Stark. Dick was willing to bet the kid was a true admirer. 

“You’re shitting me.” Hawkeye laughed suddenly, catching up with Nightwing’s thoughts as easily as ever. The man was a tragedy, but Dick suspected he was purposefully playing the fool. Dick observed Widow in his peripherals and decided to build evidence up that the two purposefully diverted attention from their intelligence. Oracle would have to be involved, her university studies be damned. “He’s probably been going to a clinic at one of the Universities.” Many of the Universities in New York had programs with the High Schools and since students came and went inconsistently, it was an easy place to get lost in.

Widow sighed deeply. “You know what this means?” Neither man made a move, negatively or positively. She could have connected this information to bongo drums in the arctic for all they knew. Widow had _contacts_ and _information_ that was sometimes strange but occasionally useful.

“Stark is our best bet.” Dick bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing out loud but could see her point. “Maybe Banner but,” She waggled a finger to gesture to herself and Hawkeye. “The kid’s probably jumping out of his skin waiting for the SHIELD designated trainers to pull his leash.”

The phone in his hand buzzed suddenly and Dick checked the message, recognizing Tim’s number. _'Spiderman 16 y/o. 2 yrs active. ‘Runner: Hands off’ orders ended last week. Spider-like abilities, super strong, est: 10 tons. Meta.'_

Dick’s nose scrunched at the words ‘10 tons’ and felt his blood pressure spike in outrage.

What the _hell_. The kid had _let_ them win. Feeling two pairs of eyes on his pulsing jugular, he tried to calm himself. _Damnit_.

This phone buzzed again with another message. _'New orders: ‘Friendly: Do not contact/approach without an Avenger present’.'_

Buzz. _'140 attributed arrests for robbery, burglary, assault, rape, kidnapping, terrorism, murder, misc.'_ What the hell was the miscellaneous for? 

Buzz. _'Ended lizardman attack.'_ Oh. Ok, that would totally be miscellaneous.

Buzz _' One civilian death on record during active rescue, murderer apprehended. Six month absence immediately followed.'_

Dick stared at his phone, mildly confused and texted back a response. _'How do we know how old he is?'_ Tim probably had his shoe size too.

He looked up at the two Avengers and smiled wanly. “The JLA had a hands off order on him for two years.” Widow made an inquiring sound that she didn’t have to form into a full question. “If someone is dangerous or a problem, we have to bring them in, underage vigilantes are legally ‘a problem’.” He mimed air-quotation marks as he said the word. “But the Leaugers were ordered to leave him alone.” A runner was simply hard to catch and were usually hunted down by at least four members of the League. Spoiler had been another freelance underage vigilante runner and the JLA had shown her no mercy, she was stored now somewhere in a juvenile penitentiary somewhere in Illinois. 

Dick caught the phone mid buzz to check the message. _'WW lassoed him right around when he started. A lot of the file was redacted almost the same day, looks like B’s work. Final notes record 2 weeks at tower infirmary. Check this,'_

Two weeks in the infirmary, even with his healing factor. Well, the Amazon wasn’t exactly known for her restraint. 

Buzz. _'That’s the same week WW got orders to D.C.'_ How deep did the JLA try to bury this? Dick tried to relax his face and flipped off Hawkeye who had been trying to snatch the phone out of his hands. _'I checked U.N. and the Wall’s archives, zip.'_ Dick frowned at the phone. So Batman had taken an interest in the kid and edited Wonder Woman’s report just in time. It meant that the JLA wasn’t the reason Spiderman had been caught, but that was something that Dick had already assumed.

The three looked at each other warily, two wondering what information Nightwing was willing to share and one wondering what information the JLA wanted known. If Batman had taken an interest in Spiderman, Dick was not about to make another move without running it by the man. 

They were startled when Spiderman yelled at them from the ground waiting for the elevators. “You guys are like, the worst spies ever. You know that, right?” He was wearing a fresh spider suit and carried a battered blue backpack slung over one shoulder. Nightwing took note of its shade of blue and the rip on the lower right corner. With several colleges and universities in New York, each with a sea of students, the information was almost useless. 

"Does that matter? We're going to have to talk about..." Hawkeye made a vague gesture with his hand. "Stuff sometime." 

Spiderman stubbornly crossed his arms and said nothing as he entered the lift, his legs bending awkwardly as he stomped and allowed the AI to choose his destination.

"That was smooth Barton." Widow said coolly, turning her gaze on Nightwing. "Well?" She glanced meaningfully at his phone. 

He drummed his fingers on the platform. "Can't really talk about it, JLA business. Let me talk to Batman and see what we can share with the Avengers.” He looked down at the ground, back up again and then gave the twins a small sly grin. He let it inch wider when the pair tensed as he leaned casually over the edge, rocking the platform.

"Dismount on three."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I be amused at how Dick divides his time between the conversation and planning to stalk the twins? Because I am.
> 
> A reminder that I do not know ASL.
> 
> I wasn't sure how confusing it was so: Fury faked his death two years ago during the fall of SHIELD and Phil’s been picking up the pieces and setting the jigsaw back together.
> 
> If you didn’t know, scrounging around for an outlet to charge your phone in a hotel is annoying, just connect your USB cord to the side of the tv if it has the ports. (random information I find useful from my traveling)


	5. This is how I disappear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a hero saves the day and rescues an innocent, it seems like everything will be ok, but how is it really?

[ 7:37 am Saturday, Anomaly Day 5 - Trillium Park Recovery House: Gotham, New Jersey] 

A sharp rapping on his door jerked him awake with a half snort half gasp. 

“Jeremy, you’re going to be late.” The gruff voice slurred his words a little and didn’t wait for a response before leaving.

The man in the bed dropped his face back into his pillow and listened to Mark clomp to the next door with half an ear.

“It’s Jerry.” He mumbled to his pillow grumpily. “Just Jerry.” He couldn’t really be annoyed with Mark, the guy was too nice to ever get mad at, but he really needed to understand the concept of the weekend. Jerry didn’t have a job to be late to anyway.

He was tempted to pull his sheets over his head but it would have been a wasted effort, he was already wide awake. He rolled over and stared unhappily at his dingy tan ceiling, ignoring for the moment his straining bladder. The walk to the communal bath required more energy than he felt like exerting at the moment.

The light that filtered in from his grimy blinds was hardly enough to see with, and the incessant Gotham cloud cover made the morning sun appear more like a dreary evening light. 

Damn, it was too much effort to even think about looking for his busted up wristwatch, but Jerry didn’t need it to know that it was seven in the morning. Mark was a human clock and had taken it upon himself to also function as an actual alarm clock. Not for the first time did Jerry consider punching the guy to see if it worked like a snooze button.

Jerry stayed long enough on the lumpy mattress that he almost fell back to sleep again but his abdomen twinged painfully and he lazily levered himself up and onto his feet. Scraping both hands through his hair, he carefully stretched up onto the balls of his feet and flexed/pulled taut every muscle he could standing up. Then, with his towel over his shoulder, hygiene kit in hand, a pair of boxers in the other, and rubber sandals on his feet Jerry unbolted his flimsy door and dragged ass to the shower room under flickering fluorescent lights.

The only man in the House that ever listened to Mark’s wakeup-call was also the only man who enjoyed the five minutes of hot water before it turned lukewarm. 

Worth it.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

[ 5:24 pm Monday, Anomaly Day 7 - Trillium Park Recovery House: Gotham, New Jersey]

“Jeremy, would you like to share today?” Ms. Lance had begun asking a little more recently. It was expected, really; he had been attending the bi-weekly meetings without fail for two months now but had yet to do more than listen.

‘No.’ He thought, trying to ignore her imploring gaze.

It wasn’t like it was required of him. Though O’ Joe would have shook his head and jabbed Jerry in the ribs with his cracked walking stick.

_You’re gonna to have to step up, kid. The problem ain’t gonna fix itself._

She was about to continue on and open another discussion but Jerry caught her eye and shifted forward in his chair, mouth falling open to speak.

Nothing came out.

Two meetings ago O’ Joe would have smacked him on the head to spit it out already.

Would have puffed out his chest and flexed his scrawny arms like a bodybuilder to tell him to man up.

Two meetings before the old man had coughed up almost a pint of blood and died waiting for an ambulance.

“I wouldn’t know what to share Ms. Lance.” He finally allowed from the back of the room, ass firmly planted in his chair. No way was he going to stand up at the front.

It didn’t matter, he had the attention of the room now, many of the others had simply turned around to face him.

“That’s okay.” The blonde tugged the sleeves down on her bulky sweater and gave him a pleasant look. “You’re still pretty new here, how are you setting in?” She gave a short smirk to a man in a brilliant blue tracksuit. “ I hear Diego takes some getting used to.”

That earned her a chuckle from the room and the dark haired man in the blue tracksuit sighed dramatically from the front.

“Nobody appreciates my process.” He lamented to Jerry, a hand raking through his thinning hair.

“We’d appreciate it better if you just turned down your disco at eleven at night, Van Gogh.” Someone called amidst more laughter.

Jerry couldn’t keep the quizzical expression from his face. What the hell was disco? 

“No one’s really bothered me.” He assured Diego and then turned his attention to the room at large. “I like it here fine.” He shrugged. “Figured out Yuri makes magic with his little grill right away.”

The other men nodded with varying levels of cheer, operating on a bartering system for his cooking, Yuri was the only reason some of them even ate during the week. It made sense that the old man continued to cook to earn his living, though the House managers appreciated that his trade was actual food now instead of drugs. 

“Have you had any luck finding a job?” Ms. Lance asked, unintentionally draining the humor from the room. 

Gotham’s unemployment rate had skyrocketed years ago and was holding steady at fucking impossible. Her face pinched into a frown when Tom, a skinny emo-punk kid with bleached white hair glared daggers at her and then zeroed in on Jerry angrily. 

He shook his head, not wanting to mention the small compensation he had received from the government that kept him afloat. Jerry didn’t really need a job. Not for another two years anyway. More if he was allowed to stay at the recovery house indefinitely. 

“Can’t. I’m in school a lot anyway. Spend most of my time just trying to get to campus.” Without getting mugged.

An elderly scruffy blonde whooped excitedly. “Whatcha studyin, kiddo? Or are ya still in high school? What grade?” The man spoke quickly and twitched several times trying to suppress a few jerky grunts.

Jerry shifted uncomfortably.

“Just getting my GED.” Not that he actually would get it. He felt the scowl start to creep on to his face and tried to remember the silly word his counselor had instructed him to use when he felt angry.

“That’s great, Jeremy.” Ms. Lance smiled even as Jerry turned his head to look away, not bothering to correct her.

He should stay quiet, he really should. But he felt emboldened and was beginning to get angry.

“I don’t even know if I can get a GED.” He glared at the empty desk in front of him. “I’m not a legal citizen, maybe, not sure where I was born. Or if I even grew up in Gotham.” He braced himself and unclenched his suddenly uncooperative jaw.

He wasn’t even sure that Jeremy was his real name. It felt wrong.

There weren’t as many surprised expressions as he had expected. Then again, the House was solely for recovering addicts trying to find their feet. Many residents had cognitive problems, some of it was faked, sure, but the rest was genuinely because they fried it on something or suffered a pre-existing condition. Jerry figured he was lucky that it was just his memory and fine motor skills that had been affected. Sure he couldn’t really hold a pen, and sometimes he dropped into seizures, but at least he wasn’t drooling in a wheelchair in some dingy Gotham mental hospital.

He listened to the old man try to suppress another short series of grunts, remembered that Tom was paranoid and thought he had been a government guinea pig and felt guilty for being lucky enough to escape more extensive brain damage. 

Ms. Lance pulled on her sleeve cuffs again and his eyes followed the movement. “Ms. Kline said I was in a coma for a few years.” He shrugged. “Whatever I took must have been really s- awesome.” He caught himself before he said _the word_. The word no one recognized or understood.

There was a quiet mixture of amusement and dissatisfied sounds. Some people were comfortable with joking about recovery, others were a little more serious about it. Maybe he should start sensitivity counseling too.

He shook his head at Ms. Lance’s inquiring glance, he was no longer in a mood to talk.

It wasn’t that Jerry had really been an addict. 

Possibly.

Maybe it was more accurate to say that he wasn’t an addict anymore? He had listened to new addicts, young, old, recovered addicts and those not willing to give it up. None of it made sense to him. 

Jerry wasn’t sure if he believed the story the Gotham City Police Department had given him. It was an ounce short of a full cup of crazy. Being picked up from an illegal medical research facility was one thing, this was _Gotham_. But that he had been put under ice for two years?

Well, okay, it _was_ Gotham. And rumors suggested that with tech giants like Stark Industries, Luthor Corporation, Wayne Enterprises and the various freelance mad scientists, life in the city was only going to get weirder.

Jerry half listened to his neighbor from across the hall speak. Ditto was expressive in the way he spoke, moving his hands in wide movements that matched his open expressions, surprisingly straight teeth glinting through his sporadic grins.

Ditto. 

The thing that gave Jerry the most comfort about staying in the recovery house was that everyone went by something else or had a nickname.

Jerry. The police report stated that they had found no identification for him in the lab aside from a strip of flimsy tape on the glass to identify him as Jeremy Matthews. 

It felt like they had taken the tape from the glass and slapped it onto his forehead. He was convinced that it wasn’t his name, but what legal paperwork he did have already had the words scrawled on it.

He spent the next half hour wondering if the tube they had found him in had been previously occupied by the real Jerry.

Wondering if he had volunteered or if he had been taken. What had they offered him? The police report didn’t state it, but one of the officers had suggested that Jerry was either a runaway or had been living on his own. Especially since the police had come up empty when they had searched for him in several different missing persons databases. 

It was weird and uncomfortable for other people in positions of authority to talk to him, the system had not been prepared to deal with a situation like his; a living civilian John Doe. 

The only other living John Doe’s were dangerous and safely sequestered in Arkham Asylum. His situation was frustrating enough that his caseworker had even tried to contact the GCPD homicide division for advice but Jerry had flatly refused to post his face on community boards and street lamps. Because if there wasn’t a missing person’s picture of him, it meant that no one was looking.

He noted when the session ended and ignored Tom’s leery eye when he beat the guy out of the room. Jerry briefly appreciated that the mentally ‘unwell’ residents were bunked on the first floor before another jolt of guilt sped his retreat to the third floor and his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness.


	6. The door had it coming.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina is (this) close from dropping York off the nearest cliff.
> 
> °°°°  
> Or, when the FLs have a plan and their minions are only too eager to help. 
> 
> (A little one-shot of their minions included, just get a feel for their motivations)

[ 9:49 am Monday, Anomaly Day 7 - *REDACTED*, Tennessee]

“So… Superheroes.” Carolina resisted the urge to stand up and pace, Number One had run through four packets of information and the briefing had already pushed into its third hour, but she felt as though she were missing giant pieces of the puzzle that was Earth-16.

Number One stiffened his spine in a military way and nodded curtly. “Yes ma’am. According to what intergalactic intelligence Three and Four have managed to gather, Earth is one of the most policed planets in Guardian Space and the nine realms.” He briskly clicked a button several times until he reached one of the first images of his slideshow. 

Three columns depicted the policing agencies of Earth; North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), a purely military run and operated joint force of allied nations; The Justice League, a civilian agency with branches in almost every developed country, organized under policies set by the United Nations; and The Avengers, a haphazard mixture of specialist contractors and highly trained military operatives on loan under Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division (SHIELD). All of them answerable to the World Security Council but only one of them held a legitimate position of authority in Carolina’s mind.

She leaned back as far as she dared in her armor, still unsure if the rickety schoolhouse bench would last another minute. While she couldn’t regret abandoning the warehouse the agents had initially landed in, she wished they had set up somewhere better secured than an abandoned middle school.

“This is still a Tier Zero civilization, why is Earth so heavily protected?” The United Nations Space Command only formed during the 22nd Century in Carolina’s timeline and the three agencies here combined to make a force almost on par with the earliest version of it. 

One clenched the clicker in his hand and stood very still, as though unsure of how to address the question and Carolina subtly switched her HUD to monitor and record his physical reactions. Of the two hundred and thirty men that had been in the facility, only twenty had initially managed to impress the agents enough to wander the area freely. Due to the slightly bizarre hiring and procedural methods of Advanced Idea Mechanics, Carolina had lowered that number to five during the move and was constantly seeking a reason to drop the remaining scientists. 

“It’s a matter of circumstance, ma’am.” He pushed two stacks of files across the rusted workbench they were utilizing as a conference table and hesitated for only a heartbeat, looking at Washington to her left for reassurance before continuing. “The ‘Superhero Phenomenon’ has been explained as a reactive response to excessive or progressively dangerous situations.” One clicked through the slides again and paused on several for a few seconds to emphasize his point. The rise of Hydra during World War Two, Appellaxian invasion of 2003, the near war with the Thanagarians in 2004, a rough map of Genosha and a grainy image of a glowing green volcanic spring clicked by slowly.

He frowned at the files before her. “I was instructed to cover major organizations, but since I still have ten minutes, I believe it is necessary to also identify the smaller ones.” One nodded at the larger stack in front of her. “The X-Men are under the NATO watch list, because while they are fairly law-abiding, they don’t exactly work for the government.” He rapidly clicked through a few slides to rest on a bleached white face. “Gotham City is a place you want to avoid. The Batman is very territorial and his rogues are absolutely insane. Latveria is also a no-go, its Dictator, Dr. Doom is incredibly intelligent, violent, and protected under treaties with the U.N.-” 

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, _wait a second_.” Carolina turned her head from One to Wash. “You’re telling me that Dr. Doom, a supervillain, is running his own country?” Both men nodded. “Why is he in the smalltime folder?”

“Well, to clarify, he wasn’t always smalltime, ma’am. He’s actually a very big player, gets SHIELD and the Fantastic Four riled up whenever he leaves Latveria. He just commits crimes on his own soil now.” One shrugged, indifferent. “He’s also the only known superhuman there.”

“ _Army of Doombots._ ” She stressed. 

The man shrugged again, clearly unperturbed. 

“Fine.” Carolina crossed her arms, thoughtful and somewhat annoyed. The information had brought up more questions than answers and she didn’t have the patience needed to quietly find more. “Anything to add, Wash?”

He wiggled his hand in a way that meant yes and no. “One, Two, Four and I have agreed that they don’t have the tech to send us back.” In an uncharacteristically unprofessional move, he leaned back his ratty rolling chair and kicked his boots onto the table that buckled and groaned ominously. “Looking up AIM’s history, it doesn’t really surprise me, no offense Number One. Interdimensional travel isn’t their strong suit.” He clicked out his thumbs in a congratulatory thumbs up. “Kudos though on the time-travel breakthroughs, though.” 

“We have time-travel.” She repeated dryly. 

This was just too weird. 

Carolina absently activated her communicator as Washington nodded enthusiastically. “York, Carolina. Bring down a report on whatever you have. I want us on the move yesterday.” Which was probably literally possible.

So much weird. 

“One, I’ll review this tonight but I want any other hard copies burned.” She placed a hand on the files and dossiers in front of her. “Put everything you have on that drive, do not leave anything on the computers.” 

The man glanced at her and flicked his eyes from his laptop to the files and then faced her squarely. “Done, ma’am.”

Smiling within her helmet, she pointed to a mostly intact desk. “Have a seat.” 

“Boss.” Washington was steepling his fingers, helmet facing her at an odd angle from his leisurely languid pose. “Boss, I wasn’t done.” His hand twitched slightly when York pried the classroom door open on rusted hinges and then snapped it from the wall in frustration. “ _We_ don’t have IDT, but there’s like, a bunch of other groups that do. The Fantastic Four, for example.”

On a scale of low one to high ten, Carolina’s temper suddenly roared from zero to a hundred as Washington ticked off more names and the only thing that kept her in her seat was York’s profile carefully in the space between Carolina and the junior agent. They’d planned this, she just knew it.

“Why in the hell didn’t you say that before! We could have been halfway home by now!” 

“Eh… possibly.” York maneuvered himself out of Four’s way and watched the platinum blonde man fiddle with One's laptop. “The Fantastic Four have a rather inconsistent record with helping non-hero teams.” One smacked Four’s hand and plugged a USB drive in before Four hip-checked him to take control of the keyboard.

“We aren’t criminals.” She protested, aware that many viewed black-ops as exactly that.

“We’re unknowns. They work very closely with the American military, we’d be detained before we even had a chance to talk to them.” York sighed, clicked off his external speakers, switched to comms and rested his hands on his hips. “And… we’ve got them.” He nodded to One and Four, watching the pair set up.

“I see.” She responded diplomatically, anger simmering under her skin as she also switched to comms.

York had argued his case to keep the five young scientists convincingly, and when it had come to leaving the facility, the five had been anything but a burden. Two had located trucks strong enough to bear the weight of a fully armored agent and One, Four and Five had transported them without incident to several separate locations before converging on the school. Slightly paranoid, Carolina had nearly killed Three when he slunk in hours later, only to hear that he had left to acquire supplies and a fourth vehicle.

“We’ve been here exactly two days and leaving again, we’re not bringing them back with us.” His attachment was bizarre and very unlike him.

“Did you even look at the tech they were working on?” 

Carolina glanced away stiffly and conceded the point. “The weapons were fairly impressive.” Actually, she’d been working with Five for hours in an almost ecstatic high at the marvelous tech they’d purloined from the facility.

“Ok, forget the weapons- and they’re freaking a-mazing by the way.” York mutely directed the scientists with hand signals to sit on one side of the room when they realized the three agents were speaking privately. “Wash, didn’t I tell you to tell her?”

Washington shrugged. “You could’ve told her yourself.”

“I told you to tell her.”

Washington repeated his irritating shrug.

“You’re hopeless, rookie.” York set to work on the laptop to bring up an image of a device that had been sitting out in the same room that the agents had dropped into two days ago and returned to his external speakers. “This, lady and gentlemen, is a narrow range uh, something something, time machine. I’ll call it Jimmy.” 

Helmet or not, Carolina very firmly didn’t roll her eyes.

“Despite the term ‘narrow range’, our team tells me it can go back at least five years.” York motioned grandly to a projection of equations that Carolina rooted into her memory, determined to review it later if only to ensure they weren’t being lied to.

“Now, this is totally useless to us.” He clicked through several slides of schematics and technical notes that Carolina also committed to memory. “But someone, somewhere wants Jimmy and one of them might have what we’re looking for.” A long list of potential buyers scrolled down the projected screen, lighting the scarred white board a sick green.

“Hold on. Most of those are known terrorist elements.” Washington’s boots thumped loudly on the vinyl floor. “You can’t possibly want to make a deal with them.” He said, aggravated.

“Stand down, no one is dealing with criminals.” Carolina let her tone speak for her, positive York was yanking the rookie’s chain.

“Well.” York drew out the ‘e’ and turned his body towards One and Four. “Technically AIM is- or rather _was_ red flagged by the Unif- United Nations. They’re blacklisted now. By the way, your buddies were arrested yesterday.” The agent clicked to a different window of a news report and scrolled through. 

“Agent York, get to the damn point.” She was hungry, irritated, and really, really wanted to get some rest before they moved again.

“Aye ma’am.” He pulled himself into his fully armored six foot, seven inch height and cleared his throat. “Since digital security is pathetic here, we have money. Lots of money. As per our our agreement, One through Five are now very rich nobodies and can safely go out into the world without being bagged and snatched. Their previous identities have been wiped. Never existed. Glad I let you pick your names?” He asked them rhetorically with a chuckle. “I had a little trouble locating the right resources, but we should be getting a drop in a few days with documents of identity for everyone.”

“A few days? That’s not good enough.” She bristled, the Director was going to have her head. He’d probably even sideline her. She’d be behind on the Board as well.

“Unless you want all of Earth’s super-humans after us, we need to do this as quietly as possible. That’s going to take some time.” He laughed suddenly. “I know that it’s not your speed, Boss, but global police forces are a little paranoid about suits of armor thanks to the Iron Man.”

Carolina remained silent.

“O-Kay.” York clicked back to his list of potential buyers and shifted to another slide, the list had deflated to about a dozen organizations and he highlighted the first name.

“The Fantastic Four have already crossed into another dimension, but everything about it was redacted. From their resulting mutations, I can only assume that they had no idea what the hell they were doing.” He pressed a button and the name crossed out. “The Asgardians might have information we can use, but they are notoriously volatile and incredibly hard to reach.” 

“York.” Don’t kill him, Carolina, he’s a great agent. “Who. Who has what we need?” 

“SHIELD, maybe Stephen Strange. Probably. He’s an ass through. But I seriously doubt anyone on this planet has what we need, so I recommend the Justice League.” The agent sounded skeptical and Carolina couldn’t blame him. “Records show they’re a little more willing to look the other way than SHIELD or the Avengers.”

“A strong man, feral woman and a creepy guy in a black cape are not something I want to report back to the Director about.”

“Er, no, but the Green Lanterns are members. So are a few other aliens.” York ran a hand over his helmet thoughtfully. “Like I said, I doubt anyone on this planet has what we need.”

Washington tapped the table anxiously. “What about the Covenant?”

York displayed images of familiar star sectors. “As far as I can tell, there either is no Covenant or they’ve got great cloaking here.”

There was just no winning this. “Fine. We’re moving again after dark. Two and Three have the details. I want us ready to move in one hour. No, I don’t care that it’s only ten hundred.” Satisfied at how One snapped to his feet at attention with Four scrambling to follow his lead, she also stood and nodded towards the pair. “Burn the yellow suits, Three brought you some civies and go bags. One, remember it’s your job to keep Two in line.” Carolina pointed at York and Washington. “You two come with me, Five and I have some hardware upgrades that’ll make you squeal like little girls.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Four relaxed once the three tall armored humanoids left the room, a deep sigh blowing out his lips from the bottom of his lungs.

[ 10:13 am Monday, Anomaly Day 7 - *REDACTED*, Tennessee]

“I knew getting a job with AIM was a terrible idea.” One said dejectedly already moving to put away his equipment. “My grandfather is going to be furious.”

“It’s not like there are too many employers hiring people like us, Lowe.” Four cringed at the look One speared him with for using his name and slid further away from the man, moving automatically to shut off the quietly chugging generator. “Besides, we’re rich now.”

“You’ve always been rich.” One paused and glanced at Four’s grimace. “What about your family?”

Four shrugged. “It’s not like they’ve noticed I left.” He ran a hand through his frustratingly fluffy blonde hair. “My dad thinks I’m still at the Training Grounds.”

One made a humming noise as he slid the last few cables into his backpack. “What about the others?”

Four huffed a laugh, surprised that the normally stoic One would be so concerned about his fellow scientists. “You mean, are they going to drop and run when York gives us our golden tickets?” How bizarre it was to say that. They were _free_ from their past. “Two won’t leave until he gets a look at their armor. Three is having too much fun, I think he really likes working with the Boss.” How that was true, Four had no idea, the woman had probably been tightly wound since childhood.

He glanced at the empty, broken doorway and lifted the small generator. “Five’s wife divorced him in-absentia a few days after Mr. Killian kidnapped the president.” Neither pointed out that she would’ve had to have had the paperwork in for months before the incident.

One cradled the projector that Four strongly suspected belonged to Two. “So, it _is_ just like the Training Grounds.”

The blonde man switched the generator to his left hand and rested the other on One’s shoulder. “We’re civilians now, the Boss said we could leave any time.”

One frowned deeply. “Yes, but we don’t have anywhere to go.” He let Four’s hand drop as they made their way to the loading dock in the rear of the cafeteria to stage their gear. “Our work could have been revolutionary at AIM. Do you really think Two or Five will just... “ He looked out the bay doors longingly. “AIM, Lex Corp, Oscorp, they’re all crazy. I have nightmares about job interviews.” He scowled at four. “ _Nightmares._ ”

Four hoped his smile wasn’t too forced as he replied, “Well, that shows us for being genius’.” His brain suddenly imploded on that thought. “We’re genius’.” 

One snorted. “Yes, we are.”

“No.” Four waved his hands excitedly. “We’re _genius’_ , Lowe. Filthy _rich_ genius’.”

“It’s Midorikawa now, _El-Amin_.” One looked like he had bitten into a lemon, he hated his grandfather’s name.

“Yea, sure, whatever.” Four laughed brightly. “But we can just make our own company.” He smiled at a wattage on scale with the sun. “Our own tech start-up. Two and Five’s law degree and mine and Three’s MBAs-”

“Did York really do that?” One’s expression could have been due to shock or constipation, Four wasn’t sure. “He gave us our degrees back?”

“The Boss didn’t authorize it, but he got bored I guess. You should have seen him work. Wait, you really need to watch him work, their technology is amazing.” Maybe it was the armor that had done most of the work, but however York had done it, he’d slipped into exposed systems and had siphoned off intel and money like a technomancer. 

A truck rumbled around the end of the building, a visibly annoyed Three at the wheel and Two leaning out the window whooping loudly like a child. Because of course he would.

“We’re supposed to be laying low.” One lamented before he glanced around the decaying cafeteria to find more than a third of their equipment already packed. “We’ll talk about this later, as a unit. For now, let’s focus on getting the… them back to their Earth.” The blue-eyed Asian man smiled tiredly at the blonde and went out to the loading dock to scare some bearing into Two and hopefully locate a change of clothes.

Four tried to wipe the smile off his face, but catching Three’s eye, it bloomed again and he mouthed a word to his friend’s questioning stare.

“Free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have no idea where this is going.
> 
> I also edited the tags with pairings. 
> 
> A bit of a tease since this is the slowest of the slow builds ever.
> 
> Of all time.


End file.
